


With This Ribbon

by reellifejaneway



Series: Dragon Age: One-Shots [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hair Kink, Light Bondage, Shameless Smut, Skyhold, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delylah Trevelyan is learning to enjoy the taste of freedom after life in the Circle. But when painful memories return to haunt her, there is only one man she trusts enough to draw her from their grasp. Can Cullen teach the Inquisitor to relinquish the last of her fear with just a simple red ribbon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	With This Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosfay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosfay/gifts).



> Part of a DA: Inquisition fiction exchange. The original prompt was 'learning to trust Cullen with touching her hair'. Delylah Trevelyan belongs to the wonderful chaosfay. Cullen and the wonderful world of Thedas belong to Bioware. I'm just a fangirl who can't let go. ^_^

Fingers glowing with magic brushed ever-so-gently against the tiny slip of green; hovering, waiting with baited breath. So fragile, so tender. The barely-visible stem was pushing up through the damp earth valiantly, and she was watching in silent awe.

In just a few days, this vulnerable, emerald shoot would blossom its first leaf. Just that thought alone made Delylah Trevelyan’s heart swell with pride.

As she knelt there on her balcony tending to her plants, the Inquisitor rested her elbows on her knees, tilting her head to one side and sweeping one long, claret dreadlock behind her ear. This was growing to become one of her favourite views: Beyond the stone balustrade, the glistening slopes of the mountain shone a myriad of brilliant whites, blues and purples. The call of a kestrel somewhere beyond the mountain caps floated to her on the breeze, and she lifted her gaze to the vast white ridges.

The beauty of this frozen world had enraptured her from the first. Skyhold had become more to her than the blessed refuge that the people of Thedas saw it as. No, to Delylah it was home. It was _hers_ , and that was a realization that carried with it awe, delight and excitement. For the first time in her life, the mage had a place of her own. It was so much more than just a keep – Skyhold was a fortress, complete with rooms so grand that she could hardly contain her excitement at the prospect of being able to decorate them exactly the way she wanted. Nurturing these tiny, vulnerable seedlings was one of many steps she had taken in decorating her new quarters. Once they received enough tender sunlight, nourishing water and warmth, they would be strong enough to transfer to the crimson-glazed ceramic planters she had ordered from Val Royeaux.

Despite it all, that was one thing Delylah’s elemental mastery could not grant her: fast-growing, strong seedlings. And ironically, that was one thing she truly wanted.

These tiny sprouts were the first of what she hoped would be many to come. After spending hours with Solas in the herb garden, she had finally gathered the nerve to plant a few seeds of her own. It was no small feat, she knew, for a Circle mage to learn to live an independent life. But she was determined. Raising seedlings into beautiful, healthy plants was just the first step. 

Reclaiming her independence wouldn’t be far behind.

Lost in thought, Delylah suddenly found herself staring down into the Keep below. From this vantage point, she could distinguish the training grounds, the garden and the central courtyard. On some clear days she could see her companions and advisors crossing the yard. And today was one such instance. For a moment she studied a distinguishable figure clad in fur pauldrons: The intimidating, handsome figure of a man the soldiers called ‘Commander’. He was descending the narrow stairs to the courtyard and moving toward the keep with determined strides. Delylah bit her lip.

 _Always so prompt and enthusiastic,_ she thought.

She wondered if he would still be as enthusiastic when he realised she’d brought him there to request that a new crest be displayed on Skyhold’s freshly renovated watch tower.

Delylah moved to stand, her newly-tailored velvet gown cascading back into place as she did so. The scarlet fabric pooled delightfully at her ankles, a long slit at the front allowing her legs to move freely – and perhaps just a little seductively – despite the lengthy garment. As she stepped back into her quarters, she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror, admiring the new clothes that Vivienne had arranged to have tailored for her. A tightly fitted brocade bodice, embroidered with delicate gold thread and edged with braid, gave way to a sweeping neckline. Gently pointed shoulders and flattering, tapered sleeves emphasized her womanly curves in all the right places. The effect was stunning, Delylah thought, admiring the way the masterfully sewn garment looked on her. Just being out of her old circle robes was an improvement in her eyes, but to wear such finery made her feel _powerful._

And this was just a day-dress.

Her clothing, her furniture, her few personal belongings – they had all taken on a new significance to her since her arrival at Skyhold. Delylah appraised her room thoughtfully, her gaze finally settling upon the tiny keepsake box on her dresser. She reached for it, an irrepressible shiver coursing her veins as she pried the silver lid open.

Out of all the things she could have saved from her life before the Circle, this was the one that both hurt her and gave her strength.

Lying on the velvet cushion was a delicate, satin ribbon.

The crimson fabric was barely the width of her fingertip, and yet as she brushed her hand across it, it might as well have been wide enough to wrap around her entire chest. Delylah’s breath caught as painful memories resurfaced. A shudder of regret gripped her and she rapidly snapped the lid shut.

 _Too close,_ she thought, setting the box back in its corner.

Almond-shaped eyes the colour of snow clouds stared back at her in the mirror, and Delylah instinctively flicked a few stray dreads over her shoulder.

 _What’s done is done,_ Delylah told herself, straightening her shoulders. _There is no use dwelling on the past._

That was the moment a gentle knock sounded on her door.

She started a little at the noise, reminding herself that she had invited him after all and had even seen him crossing over to the Keep. So why was she suddenly so nervous? Calming her breathing and stepping away from the dresser, Delylah schooled her features into their usual calm demeanour.

“Enter.”

 The sound of hinges squeaking was followed by heavy footfalls and the creak of worn leather. A strikingly familiar face appeared above the balustrade, a mop of wavy blond hair shining in the sunlight streaming through the open balcony doors across from him.

“Inquisitor?” Golden eyes met hers in unspoken question.

“Up here, Cullen,” She beckoned him in then, turning away to straighten the scattered letters on her desk. “Thank you for coming by – I know you had a busy schedule today.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” The ex-Templar smiled, stepping beyond the landing. Even though she wasn’t looking at his face, Delylah could hear the warmth in Cullen’s voice. “I promised you that I would come, and I have. No amount of paperwork could keep me from you.”

Sure enough, a pair of strong, warm hands slid around her waist then. Delylah couldn’t help the flush of heat that burned across her cheeks. She cared for Cullen, more deeply than she could express. Flirting had never been an interest or a necessity up until recently, and she had the tendency to be blunt with the few words she _did_ choose to speak. Delylah was strongly aware of the fact that her flirtation still needed improvement. Knowing that Cullen returned her feelings hadn’t entirely eased her discomfort; often she wondered whether he truly was as relaxed with silence as she was. The realisation that her lover struggled with words, more specifically stammering, had become a comfort to her. Since they had confessed their attraction, their interaction had become much less strained – almost natural even. It was moments like these when Cullen showed his affection to her so completely, so _physically_ , that Delylah felt most relaxed. He never asked from her what she didn’t want to give. No word games, no unnecessary prelude or distractions. He told her only what she needed to hear and nothing more, content to let her drink in the silence. That was what she loved: raw need, silent intimacy.

A chin rough with stubble grazed her sensitive skin just beneath her ear.  Cullen was always so careful, Delylah noted, to avoid her hair. Their first time together, he had inadvertently touched her dreadlocks and been rewarded with a lightning shock to his hand. Delylah had been horrified by her own reaction – one borne from old grudges and painful memories – but Cullen had learned quickly to respect that boundary. Now, his breath tickled across the exposed side of her throat, his fast-learning fingers dancing away from her dreadlocks considerately.

“I dreamed of you last night,” Cullen murmured.

That piqued her interest. “You did?” Delylah leaned her velvet-clad body against his armour.

“Would you like me to tell you about it?” He offered, nuzzling the junction of her deep bronze shoulder. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head all day.”

Trevelyan nodded, sinking into his weight.

“We were alone,” he began, murmuring his words against the soft flesh of her neck, “alone in the garden with only the moon to keep us company.” Calloused fingers slipped across her slender shoulder, tugging the head of her sleeve down and baring more of her glorious skin. Cullen relished it slowly, breaking his tale only to press adoring kisses to her flesh. “You wore a new dress.” To emphasize this point, Cullen’s hands drifted down her sides, following the grain of the velvet tenderly. “And _Maker_ , what you did to me in that gown. I could feel you, like you were there with me at every moment, torturing me and wringing pleasure from us both until we couldn’t stand anymore. I woke up with your name on my lips,” he whispered, “but you weren’t there.”

Delylah’s eyes widened when Cullen spun her about in his arms, pinning her to his chest.

“I still want you,” he breathed, punctuating the statement by briefly feathering his lips over hers. “And now we’re alone. I spent all morning begging the Maker to send me an intervention – any excuse to come find you.”

“But I didn’t even tell you why I wanted you to come see me,” Delylah interjected. “What if I had sent for an update on troop movements? Summoned you to the war council? Or to a private meeting with some nobles?”

Cullen silenced her with a deep kiss, pulling away only when she had gone slightly weak in his arms. “I didn’t need to know the reason,” he told her, “I don’t care whether you and I are here, the war room, the garden – anywhere, just so long as there is a moment when I can have you alone. When I could…” his voice dropped into a delicious rumble against her ear, “take you for myself.”

“The garden?” Delylah felt her dark cheeks flush with heat at that suggestion. All thoughts of flags and crests fled from her mind. “You really would have taken me in the garden, like in your dream?”

The Commander smirked at her then. There was not so much as a hint of the coy advisor she had seen on their previous times together.

“I would have found us a private corner,” Cullen whispered, his palms sliding down to cup her ass through the velvet. “We could have stolen a few minutes if we were discreet. I might have pinned you against a shadowy wall, or made love to you in a concealed, forgotten room. You would have been wailing with pleasure, my lips the only thing muffling your cries from prying ears.”

Delylah ran her fingers through his fur pauldrons. Normally she didn’t like lengthy conversations, but this… This was more than arousing. “Show me,” She breathed.

Amber eyes darkened as they delved into orbs of snowy grey. “I’ve been hoping all day that you would say that.”

Cullen lifted her in his arms, spinning about and pressing her against the oak bookcase. Delylah felt her cheeks flushing even darker, but she wanted this. Oh Maker, how she wanted this.

“The difference, my lady Inquisitor,” Cullen murmured, grazing his teeth against her earlobe, “is that if we had made love in the garden, you would have had to remain utterly…” His fingers danced against her hip, peeling back her gown slowly and brushing her bare thigh through the slit in the fabric. “…And torturously…” He pushed his knee between hers then. “… _Silent._ ”

Delylah let out a faint moan and grasped at his hair, dragging his lips down to hers. His scent alone was enough to make her dizzy. The velvet sensation of his mouth plundering hers, however, was her undoing. She returned the kiss with as much passion and fervour as she could muster, her tongue battling with his for supremacy. Breaking free momentarily, she trailed her lips across his scar, relishing in the heavy breaths and rasping moans that Cullen rewarded her with so richly.

“You underestimate my resolve, Commander,” she whispered, summoning the faintest spark of lightning to her fingertips. Slender hands traced across his temples, twining into his thick hair, sending spasms through his body with each tiny flicker of power. Delylah could tell by the way Cullen’s eyes drifted shut, the quickening of his breathing, the way he rubbed his thigh so deliciously against her that she was well beyond igniting his lust. Now she was just fuelling the wildfire. “I am more than capable of showing constraint,” she trailed a finger down the back of his neck, beneath his pauldrons, “when I see fit.”

“Maker take it all,” Cullen growled. He snatched both of her glowing hands away then, spinning her away from the wall and moving backward towards her bed. “Maker take your constraint, you shrewd, _magnificent_ woman.”

“Stop talking,” Delylah ground out, laving at his scar ravenously.

Their lips clashed again, desperate moans and sighs filling the air. Cullen guided them backwards, their bodies writhing together despite armour and clothing. Neither wanted to be the first to let go, to be the first to feel the cold air separate them.

But the moment broke when Delylah’s velvet-clad rear collided with her dressing table. The dresser lurched violently and a ringing clang sounded, echoing throughout the chamber. Cullen jumped, releasing her when he realized they had knocked a few of her belongings onto the floor.

“Oh Maker – forgive me, Delylah,” He exclaimed, immediately bending down to retrieve the fallen mementos.

“It’s alright,” She whispered, dropping to her knees to do the same.

Then their eyes simultaneously locked on that engraved, silver keepsake box. The ornate lid had escaped its latch during the fall, and lying on the floor in a loosed coil was that worn, crimson ribbon. One end of the satin strip had unwound itself, trailing across the rug and shimmering in the light. The other still remained hidden inside its velvet lined box.

Cullen’s mouth went strangely dry when he saw it. A ribbon. It was old, he noted, and well-loved to be kept hidden away in such an elaborate container. But it was the tears that welled up in Delylah’s eyes, the anxiety lines that formed in the lash-covered corners, the way she pinched her lips and slowly backed away from him that made Cullen’s heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright – it’s not damaged. Look.” The Commander scooped the ribbon up in his large, calloused hands, folding the loose end gently around his fingers.

“Don’t touch it!” Trevelyan exclaimed, attempting to snatch the newly wound ribbon from him. She looked positively wounded, as though he had just physically slapped her. Stormy grey eyes turned almost blue in her distress. “Please, Cullen.”

“What’s wrong, Delylah?” He queried, moving closer to her now. One hand offered the satin freely. “Here, I only wanted to help.”

Shame flitted across her features then and she dropped her eyes toward her lap. Delylah remained seated motionlessly on the rug for several moments, a tear escaping her eye and rolling down her face. Her crimson dreadlocks had escaped their confines, cascading over her cheek and masking her shattered emotions from him.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen told her gently, reaching out to try and soothe the distressed mage. One upturned palm still held out the ribbon contritely, but he didn’t realise his other hand was touching her hair, smoothing it away from her face, until it was too late to take it back.

Letting out a cry, Delylah scrambled to her feet. Wide, storm grey eyes met his furiously. “Why? Why did you do that? The one thing I asked you not to do—”

Cullen’s brow furrowed, a deep suspicion settling in his gut. He watched as the woman opposite him paced back and forth, words tumbling from her in a jumble of emotions: anger, doubt, pain. But it was only then that he realized why she had been so affected by the ribbon. Why had it only taken him holding it to break her? Why did she so vehemently refuse to have her beautiful hair touched? The pieces fell into place then, and Cullen rose. Moving to stand behind her, he reached out and gently clasped her hand.

Delylah started away from him – but Cullen held fast.

“Why don’t you trust me?” He asked softly, his voice edged with hurt.

“I…” Trevelyan glanced back and forth between his eyes and his hand. She looked so cornered, so dejected. “I do trust you,” She admitted in a soft, tearful voice.

“No.” Cullen held up the ribbon. “You don’t – not completely. This makes you terrified; it makes you wary of me and I don’t want that. Not for us.” His eyes pleaded with hers. “Tell me, Delylah. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“Please, Cullen; please don’t make me do this.”

He swept his thumb over her jaw tenderly. “I can’t bear to see you hurting like this, or to see you flinch when I touch you in love. Let me in, Delylah.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t protest.

“Let me be here for you,” Cullen murmured, stepping closer so she could feel his body heat radiating against hers. “The same way you have been here for me. Tell me.”

There was no intimidation in his stance, no anger or impatience. Just a calming presence that remained, that reassured her that he could be trusted to stay and love her where others had not.

Taking a deep breath, Delylah began, “I was sent to the circle when I was six years old.”

That instantly made Cullen stiffen – he gaped at the thought of so young a child being handed over to the protection of the Templars. The most common age for power to culminate was at thirteen, nearly twice the age Delylah had been. During his time at Lake Calenhad, he had only encountered a handful of children that young. At Ferelden they had been blessed to receive loving guidance from a few enchanters, but often children in other circles were not so fortunate. It was a cruel fate to be parted from their families so young.

“My parents,” she continued, “discovered my talent when, on a hot night, I summoned snow to my bedchambers. They were not accepting of my power. They did not take kindly to discovering their child – their heir – was a mage. Almost instantly they bundled me into a carriage, with nothing but a few personal belongings and clothes, and took me to the Ostwick Circle.” Delylah’s tears were flowing freely now. “My mother refused to speak to me when she left. But my father, he—” she nodded toward the ribbon still resting on Cullen’s palm, “he tied that in my hair. It was his way of saying goodbye. I haven’t seen them since.”

Understanding dawned then, and Cullen stared down at the ribbon in anguish. “I… I didn’t realise…”

“I threw it away,” Delylah blurted, her face twisting in misery. “I didn’t want to remember how they left me. I tore it from my hair and threw it in the mud when the carriage drove away. But an enchanter, Lydia, saved it for me – she put it in this box and left it on my nightstand beside my bed.” Trevelyan swiped at her tears, forcing a smile. “When I woke the next day after crying myself to sleep, the ribbon was there, waiting. I suddenly realized that even if my parents didn’t want me, at least I had a little bit of home with me to remember them by. But I don’t look at it often; I never touch it. And I don’t like people touching my hair. Not after… Well.” She grimaced, “There were incidents in the dormitories when I first started braiding my hair into dreadlocks. After my father’s farewell, having anyone else touch my hair just felt wrong. I was not kind to those who tried. It was my protection; my way of keeping the pain at a safe distance.” Delylah wrapped her arms around herself, smiling ruefully. “Up until recently, I never had to worry about how that could… Impact other people in my life.”

Cullen took a step towards her. “Do you remember what you said to me about lyrium?”

“That I thought you were strong enough to defeat it,” Delylah murmured, “and that I am proud of the man you are now.”

“Your faith is what _kept_ me strong.” Warrior’s fingers cupped her jaw tenderly. “You believed in me even when I did not trust myself. Is it wrong of me to hope that you too can defeat your past, Delylah Trevelyan?”

Her eyes widened, a tiny crease of a smile dancing on the corner of her mouth. “No, Cullen, it’s not.”

He took a step into her personal space. “May I?”

Delylah’s brow furrowed quizzically, but she nodded in permission.

Cullen moved to embrace her from behind. His hands slid down her velvety arms to twine their fingers together. “You’ve clearly never had someone touch your hair the _right_ way.” Letting the ribbon fall loose from between his fingers, the Commander slowly kissed up Trevelyan’s bronze neck. “I owe it to you, my lady, to correct that oversight immediately.”

The Inquisitor shivered, fighting not to push him away as Cullen shifted one palm from her hand to the nape of her neck. His deft fingers gently brushed at the tight, red curls there. She bit her lip, wishing she could close her eyes and yet, fearing the memories that would undoubtedly return if she did. Elemental magic instinctively flickered at her fingertips, a reflex that in her distraction she could not suppress.

“Relax, Delylah – lean on me,” Cullen told her softly. Unafraid of her power, he caressed her palm with small, slow circles of his fingers. “If you feel anxious or in pain, squeeze my hand. I won’t let go.”

Delylah managed to nod. Words had long since abandoned her – the twin sensations of Cullen’s warm fingers stroking her own shaking ones, the other hand venturing to rub her temples calmingly, had her trembling in his arms. She had never felt this, never dreamed that having her hair caressed would be so gratifying.

Cullen paused when a shaky sigh escaped her. “Would you like me to stop?”

Inquisitor Trevelyan’s head tilted up then, her crimson hair brushing against his nose. “No,” she confessed, a blush making the bronze hue of her cheeks even deeper.

Encouraged, Cullen slid his long fingers down against her neck, trailing through her dreadlocks at a leisurely pace. Delylah moaned, relishing the spark of heat the gentle tug sent to her core. Her power flared weakly, ghosting the room with pale violet light.

Cullen shivered at the rush, the tingling sensation that both warmed and electrified him. “Maker’s breath, you truly are enjoying this, aren’t you?” He chuckled into her mane.

No answer came.

Letting his hand fall from her locks, Cullen gently cradled Delylah in his arms. “There are other ways I can show you,” He murmured against her shoulder.

“Tell me they don’t involve clothes,” She purred hazily.

Cullen smirked, twining his fingers through her hair and pulling her in for a deep kiss. “None at all,” he rasped.

The urge to touch, the need to feel skin on skin, was too strong. Neither wanted to resist it any longer. Lost in the moment, the lovers’ bodies entwined: Lips searching, tongues dancing together, teeth clashing, desperate gulps for air snatched between each wild kiss. Delylah’s deft fingers tugged at his pauldrons; peeled away layers of clothing and armour before tossing them across the room heedlessly. The more of his skin that she revealed, the more her smile grew. Delylah never ceased to enjoy exploring Cullen’s powerfully built physique. She dipped her fingertips into rippling muscle, memorizing scars. He was more than handsome to her. Each tiny mark had a story that she longed to know – touching them, _tasting_ them, was only one step toward understanding him infinitely better.

Cullen, on the other hand, clung to Delylah as though she was his last hope. Each kiss was powerful, burdened with hidden messages that only they knew. He used every little brush of his lips to tell her how beautiful she was; every nibble at her jaw or ear whispered that she was irresistible; every deep, insisting sweep of his tongue promised that he wanted her now and always. Cullen prayed that Delylah understood. She was so much more to him than a lover. Their bond was what kept him from drowning in his own anxiety. After seeing her reduced to tears, Cullen was more determined than ever to show her just how much he wanted her to trust him with _everything._

His hands worked slowly to peel away her gown. Painstakingly, he worked around her own busy fingers until the ornate velvet gown was little more than a loose pile of fabric at her feet. He relished the warmth of her nearly-bare body pressed against his. Tangling his fingers in her locks once more, Cullen tilted Delylah’s head back against his palm. The other hand moved once more to twine their fingers together. Then, with a quick flick of his wrist, he snagged Delylah’s wrist in a loop of ribbon.

The mage’s eyes widened in astonishment. She attempted to lift her hand, only to realise that her wrist was, in fact, bound snugly to Cullen’s.

“Cullen, what—”

He pushed her down then, trapping her between the bed and his immense heat. Cullen’s laugh rumbled deep in his stomach, which sent sparks racing through her body once again.

“Trust me,” He smirked, kissing his way down her chest.

Delylah tried to distract herself from the satin ribbon that rubbed against her skin by staring at the mural on the wall above them. But it became nearly impossible to remain lucid when Cullen relieved her of her breastband. His eager lips closed about one nipple and Trevelyan gasped. While one hand lay twined with her lover’s on the embroidered bedspread, the other scrambled to find a gentle hold in his hair. Soft, golden curls tickled playfully against her fingers; meanwhile a velvety tongue danced across the sensitive skin of her breast. When Cullen shifted to pay attention to its twin, Delylah’s back all but arched off the downy bed. Small moans of ‘Cullen’ and ‘oh yes’ intermingled with her accelerating breathing.

“You tease,” she panted, rubbing her thigh against his hardened bulge.

Cullen’s eyes flickered shut and he groaned. “I-If we were i-in any other place, perhaps then I-I would feel the need to… Oh…” His hips ground down slightly into her leg then and he bit his lip. “…The need to rush. But we’re not,” He reminded her, pulling her bound wrist over her head and pinning it there with his weight. “Besides, you are in need of a thorough _lesson_ , Delylah Trevelyan, and I have a day’s worth of unfulfilled desire to work through. I intend to take my time.”

Smiling mischievously, Delylah’s free hand slipped down his body and grasped at Cullen’s loincloth. “Do you indeed?” She toyed with his waistband, shifting the cloth down his body enough for his shaft to spring free from its confines. “Are you certain of that?”

The man above her shuddered, his eyes shifting down to where she had him in-hand. Already Delylah’s fingertips were stimulating him with expert precision. Every curl of her hand, every skilled brush of her thumb against him, had that dangerous heat pooling in his belly. “Maker’s b-breath…” His cheeks flushed red as arousal raced through him, his hips arching into her grip involuntarily. Biting his lip, he forced the nervous stutter away with decided effort. “Delylah...” Cullen forced his eyes open then and snatched her hand away. “Not yet,” he warned, those amber eyes sparkling with mischief. “I still have things I want to show you.”

“Then stop talking about it and _show me already_.”

Cullen obeyed. Ridding her of her smalls and shifting his weight into a seated position on the bed, he eased her upright in front of him. He drew her knees up on either side of his thighs, so that Delylah was straddling him comfortably. Then Cullen pulled her against his chest and propped their tied hands against the bedspread for balance.

“Better?” He murmured, suckling at the nape of her neck.

Delylah’s eyes sparkled as she kissed him in acknowledgement.

Taking this as his cue, Cullen eased her thighs slightly apart, so she was open to him. One finger reached between them to trace her entrance slowly. Her petals shivered at his touch – she was dewy with want, her arousal coming away slick on his fingertips and sending a bolt of urgency straight to his core. For several moments longer, Cullen took advantage of her position and stroked her. Each touch had Delylah humming appreciatively. He circled her clit, watching her grind into his hand with an expression of pure rapture. Slowly he stretched her open, dipping one finger inside.

“Oh… Oh Maker, yes,” She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t stop.”

He smiled. _This_ was what he wanted: Not dread over some worn ribbon or scarring memories. Now she trusted him. Their bound wrists, his hand stroking her hair – the fear was all but forgotten.

With a gentle manoeuvre, Cullen shifted Delylah’s body weight so that her entrance hovered over his length. A throbbing need pulsed through him, intensifying dramatically when he began to ease his member inside her. His strained willpower was reflected on her face: eyes wide, breaths hitched, bodies pulsing. She stretched exquisitely to accommodate him, her muscles quivering around him with each gentle movement.

After a few moments of adjustment, Trevelyan nodded and Cullen rested a steadying palm on her hip. Delylah knew his rhythm well. She followed his gentle guidance and moved above him gracefully, her walls taking him in and releasing him perfectly. Each rise made her breasts bounce, pert nipples brushing his bare chest – and Cullen was enraptured. Seeing her like this: mouth hanging open as she gasped for air, her long hair swaying against her bare back, had her lover wondering how he had ever survived without her. Cullen bit down on his lip to keep from losing his self-control. He thrust upward, sliding almost fully inside her, relishing every shiver they shared. Then, with careful control, he withdrew until just the tip remained inside.

Without warning, Delylah’s fingers flared with elemental power once again. Cullen moaned as a potent shock rushed up his arm and buzzed through his torso. It was not abnormal for her magic to ignite during their intimate moments, but like this…? Her lightning was playing deftly along that fine boundary between pain and pleasure.

“Cullen dear, you’re not paying attention,” Delylah smirked, pulling their joined hands upward to cup her breast.

He couldn’t help but smile; the flash of his teeth was a rare, but wonderful sight – and it was one that he blessed Delylah with more often than he could count. Cullen’s breath hitched when she turned their entwined fingers back on him, dragging her nails down his chest, his hand bound to hers helplessly. He shivered at her test of sweet endurance. The magic seeped into his skin, dancing beneath each red mark that her nails left behind.  The sweet burn of her power only added to the raging desire that was twisting deep within him already. “I-it’s hard t-to pay attention… When… When you’re doing _that_ … Oh Maker.”

She shook her head then, bending forward to kiss him. “Not good enough, I’m afraid,” Delylah murmured between kisses, her lips never leaving his. “You owe me, Cullen, remember? I collect on my debts.”

Cullen chuckled into her mouth. “Twisting my words now? Is this how you treat the other advisors…?”

That earned him a light slap on the thigh. “No – just the one who frequently visits my bedchamber.”

“Hmm. Well in that case I’ll have to…” He bit down on her lower lip then, earning a deep moan of gratification, “add a little _intrigue_ to my routine.”

Delylah’s eyes widened. “If that means you’re going to ambush me in the garden, then—”

Cullen growled in a mixture of laughter and mock vexation. Using that strip of satin to his advantage, he wound her hand down to between her thighs, to where they were joined. Long fingers covered slender ones, two hands gently caressing her clit with practiced strokes. The sudden reversal had Delylah reeling. The Commander was nothing but tender in his care of her, and yet his amber eyes simmered with a mesmerizing heat while he simultaneously ravaged her mouth and plunged into her. Wet heat and fiery need coursed through them both, two flames so close now that they burned as one.

Delylah whimpered inarticulately. Her head fell forward against his shoulder, sending red hair cascading freely across her back. She hissed as Cullen’s free hand tugged cautiously at her long dreadlocks, urging her to look up.

“Don’t hide your face, love,” He entreated. Still bound by the ribbon, Cullen flicked his fingers against her nub and urged her ecstasy higher.

“Cullen,” She moaned his name against his neck, her breath hot against his skin. Inadvertently she began to tremble, trying in vain to hold herself back. Delylah’s hand gripped his shoulder harder and dug her nails into his flesh in an attempt to keep from letting go so soon.

His brow creased in concern. Cullen cupped her cheek, tilting her head back and brushing his thumb across her lips so lightly they tingled in its wake. “Let go, Delylah,” He whispered, bending to kiss between her breasts. His neatly combed hair had worked itself loose from its meticulous grooming; blond curls tickled her throat delightfully as he suckled at her shoulder, his lips mapping her chest inch by inch. “Trust me.”

Delylah wanted desperately to tell him again that she _did_ trust him; to beg him not to stop, and yet every thought in her head disintegrated with each rise and fall of their bodies. Cullen slowly pulled her against his chest. She quivered at the thrill of her breasts grazing those sculpted muscles, the clenching of her muscles around his shaft, relishing the deep growls of satisfaction their coupling was drawing from Cullen too. Every sound he made sent shudders through her, and sweet Andraste, she had never felt anything so divine.

Finally Delylah realised she couldn’t hold on any longer. She gave up on forming a coherent thought and instead gave into her base needs. Bracing her free hand against his shoulder, she attempted to speed up Cullen’s rhythm – she needed more of him, more contact, more speed. But her body was fighting her. Every rock of her hips against his length sent tantalising shockwaves up her spine, breaking her focus. Her movements were growing shaky, almost frenzied. Moans tumbled from her lips freely, but Delylah was completely blind to her own cries and the world around her. All that she could feel – all that she _wanted_ to feel – was the man holding her, his steady hand cradling her head, the flexing of his stomach against hers, and the intoxicating aura of his presence.

“Cullen!” She gasped then, her walls contracting in warning. “Please…”

His fingers grasped at her dreadlocks once more and Delylah mewled.

“Glorious,” Cullen growled, nipping at her neck and trailing hot breath up the curve of her throat. “D-delylah Trevelyan… You are _glorious._ ” He captured her lips then, stifling both of their groans.

Grey eyes hazy with pleasure stared up at him, lashes fluttering in rapture as he delved into her over and over. She stiffened against him, the crest of her pleasure rushing to engulf her with unremitting speed. Delylah gasped, her whole being sparking with electricity. Lighting arced between them – the sparks only heightening their mutual bliss. That wave of ecstasy began to overwhelm her at last, crushing her with its sweet onslaught and she came, even as she clung desperately to Cullen and drank in the heady scent of his sweat.

The sight of his love bucking against him wildly, her lips hanging open and her every breath carrying his name, was perfect in his eyes. He watched her in awe, calloused fingertips carefully brushing loose strands of hair away from her forehead. Delylah shuddered and cried out in completion, a rush of liquid heat engulfing him and tempting him with the promise of his own release. Cullen drew out her pleasure for as long as he could. With every deep stroke, her voice grew louder until her screams reached a crescendo. Now, as she collapsed against his chest, the sweat that glistened on her skin mingled with his.

Cullen took his cue. He lay Trevelyan down on the bedspread gently, staring down at her crimson halo in wonder. Then, with hands that shook ever so slightly, he eased her legs up around his waist. Cullen buried himself inside her with a new-found urgency, his body throbbing approvingly at the deeper angle he’d chosen. She was so wet; her body still throbbed from the aftershocks of her climax and Maker, what she was doing to him without even knowing it… A loud groan tore from his throat when his lady tugged her hand free of the ribbon, instead trailing the satin across the back of his neck.

“My turn,” she whispered in his ear.

He was already aching for release, but this new sensation was altogether too much for him to bear. Cullen’s hips snapped forward when Delylah used the ribbon to tug his open mouth down to hers, intertwining her tongue with his. “D-Delylah… S-stop…” He groaned desperately into her mouth when her fingers trailed down his spine; it was taking all his willpower just to hang on a few moments longer.

She smiled against his lips. “I _know_ you don’t mean that,” She purred, tracing the curve of his cheekbone with the ribbon’s silky tip.

Somehow thanks to him, the ribbon which had previously caused so much pain now held an entirely new representation for her. Oh how perfect the crimson satin looked against Cullen’s glowing skin! The exertion had produced a vivid red blush on his cheeks, the gleam of sweat trailing across a forehead that creased in concentration so superbly.

Tracing the outer edge of his ear with her fingers, Delylah enticed, “Besides, you still haven’t shown me _everything_ you can do with this ribbon—”

It was the perfect opportunity to turn her earlier words back on her. Pulling her into a punishing kiss, Cullen hissed against her lips, “Stop talking.”

Delylah opened her mouth to retort, but Cullen cut her off by snatching the length of red satin from her and looping it around her adventurous wrists. He moved so gracefully for a warrior, she observed. Fingers adept at wielding a heavy weapon were administering tender care to her arms, binding her so delicately that if it weren’t for the firm tug at the knot, she would never have known the tie was there. Delylah gaped, wondering how he always managed to ensnare her so easily, and yet she didn’t fight back. She didn’t want to. But she pouted for added effect when he pulled her bound arms above her head.

“Better?” She huffed.

Cullen smirked and bit down softly on her earlobe for her efforts. “J-just stop t-talking…” He grimaced at his stutter – he knew it meant he was running out of self-discipline – and turned his attention back to her hips. He resumed his punishing tempo with the full intention of making her scream out a second time. Cullen dug his fingers into the smooth skin of her thigh. “M-maker,” He groaned when Delylah deliberately tightened her walls around him.

The woman beneath him let out a gasping laugh, tossing her head back and grinding up against him. “Louder, Cullen, I don’t think He heard you.”

The Commander’s eyes flashed and then darkened; a growl of warning sounded low in his chest. Her taunt snapped the last thread of control and he reared up, plunging into her with a masterful force that was certain to leave her aching for days. His grunts were soon joined by her escalating cries. They were both tumbling headlong toward that chasm, perfectly content to surrender to their desire and the unadulterated fervor of the moment.

“Delylah… Delylah…”

Cullen ground out her name, letting his head fall back as he finally reached his peak. His whole torso arched and then stiffened against her. It began as a deep hum, a thready admonition for mercy, but within moments the sound had swelled into a roar. Eyes closed, hair falling wildly across his face, Cullen was powerless to hold it back. He knew nothing but Delylah, lunging deeper inside her and praying that she might grant him mercy with every breath. Her replies came in the form of echoing wails and vaporous magic – Trevelyan’s power emanated from her skin as she peaked a second time, her magic caressing him and sparking against him masterfully. At last that twisting, torturous coil inside him snapped. Cullen spilled himself within her, letting out one last weak cry and collapsing against her.

The two lay entangled in silence for several moments. All they could hear was the sound of their own ragged breathing and racing heartbeats. Slowly Cullen pushed himself up on his elbows, rolling apologetically to one side so he wouldn’t crush her beneath his weight. His fingers quickly moved to untie that ribbon, and he quickly laid it aside. Somehow, this moment seemed to perfect to ruin by pondering on the past.

Delylah seemed so ethereal like this, he marvelled, brushing one shaking hand against her cheek. To him she seemed to glow with her own radiance, her naked frame shining despite the fading light outside.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” She murmured, pressing a kiss to his palm.

He leaned down to kiss her, “You… You are the only thought I need, Delylah Trevelyan.” Cullen leaned his forehead against hers, studying her misty eyes adoringly. “Tell me you thought only of me. Tell me that I may touch your hair again, my lady, and that you are truly mine.”

Delylah smiled. “I was always yours.”

Later that night, when the Keep fell silent and the only light that burned was the fire in the hearth, Delylah crossed to her dresser to retrieve a pair of scissors. The ribbon, she had decided, deserved more than to be hidden away in a box. And somehow it seemed fitting this way: a family’s broken vow had at last been redeemed with love.

Cullen took her chin in his hand as she knelt before him, tears forming in his eyes. No words could ever truly describe how he felt. He knew at last how much she trusted him.

Sharp blades sliced neatly through the satin. Loving fingers wrapped one length of crimson around a gauntlet of tarnished silver. Deft warrior’s hands tied a strip of ribbon in the midst of crimson hair. A knot sealed the promise; a brief kiss to the fabric gave it life and a hope.

With this ribbon a pledge had been made between them – and they would endeavor to spend the rest of their lives keeping it.


End file.
